Elpida

by C. Kennedy

  “Hey, Carol?”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, Christy’s asleep. May I take a shower?”

  “Sure. I’ll get a clean set of scrubs for you.”

  Oh yeah. He’d forgotten he didn’t have clean clothes. “Thanks.”

  “How are your hands?”

  He looked down at them. Other than the grease in his nails, and the blood that had seeped through the bandage on one hand, they were fine. No big. “Good.”

  “I’ll change the bandages after you shower. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll bring the scrubs to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Michael made his way back to the room and sat in the chair next to the bed. He watched Christy for a moment, his face now peaceful in sleep, and thanked his lucky stars yet again that Christy was okay. Reaching for the remote control, he turned the overhead TV on, flipped channels until he came to CNN, and turned the volume up just enough to hear the commentary. Stock market this, entertainment that, and in New York….

  A picture of the Ferris wheel surrounded by emergency vehicles flashed on the screen. “…daring rescue by this young man, Michael Sattler….” His picture filled the screen. Then a picture of Christy flashed on-screen, and next a picture of Yosef filled the screen. He turned the volume up a little more. The screen changed to a picture of the press amassed outside the courthouse as the voice-over continued.

  “The courtroom remains closed to media, but sources close to the trial say the jury is, forgive the pun, expected to take no prisoners. The crowd is growing by the minute in anticipation of the jury rendering its verdict any time now. As you can see behind me, several people carry signs bearing the words Dead, Dead, Dead, a snippet from the inimitable words of Judge L. B. Woodside in the 1906 Jody Hamilton verdict. I quote, ‘I sentence you to be hanged by the neck until you are dead, dead, dead, and may God have mercy on your soul.’ It goes without saying that this crowd is in support of the harshest possible sentence for Yosef Sanna.”

  Hallelujah. May you rot in hell, you son of a bitch, Michael thought angrily.

  “Here you go, Michael.”

  He took the scrubs from Carol’s hands. “Thanks.”

  She looked up at the television and sighed.

  “The news will die down after he’s sentenced,” Michael said with a long sigh.

  “I hope so. You need to get on with your lives.”

  “Word,” he said as he stood. “Have you heard from Dad?”

  She shook her head. “He said he’d check in at the lunch break.”

  “Okay. How long until Christy wakes?”

  “The sedative was mild. He should wake soon. What upset him?”

  “First, the news in Greece is saying that Christy is dead. Then, someone dressed as an orderly threatened Thimi with being returned to the yacht, and he tried to jump off the roof of the hospital.”

  She gasped and her hand shot to her mouth. “Is Thimi okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so. But it was touch and go for a bit. Why didn’t Dad want Christy to bathe?”

  “I think he wants to make sure Christy is stable before he gets into a shower.”

  Michael tucked his chin in disbelief. “Why? He’s okay now.”

  She was quiet for a long moment before she spoke. “Sometimes suicidal people try more than once, and I’m sure he wants Dr. Villarreal to talk to him.”

  Worry zinged Michael’s spine again. “Yeah, okay,” he said tentatively.

  Rob Villarreal ran Wellington Ranch, the group home where Christy had lived since coming to the states. It was the only facility in the country specializing in the treatment of abused boys, and Rob had been Christy’s psychiatrist from the start. Michael originally thought Rob was a jerk but had come to know him and now held a deep respect for him and the work he did with boys like Christy.

  “Why hasn’t Rob been by yet?”

  “He’s in court too. He wanted to add to the information your dad gave the judge.”

  That made sense.

  “Peter will be by to check on both of you in an hour or so.”

  Peter was their physical therapist, and his work had gone a long way in helping them both. Christy was able to walk again after two fractured legs, and Michael had passed the USATF tryouts in spite of a dislocated kneecap.

  “Okay.”

  MICHAEL LOOKED at his face in the mirror. Other than being a little pale and needing a shave, he didn’t look too bad. Well, except for the bruise on the side of his face stemming from jaw to temple and trying to make its way to his eye. At one point during his climb up the Ferris wheel, his face met steel. Luckily he hadn’t fallen. Another reason to thank his lucky stars. He touched his fingertips to the outside of his eye, and it hurt. Meh. I’ve had worse.

  He showered quickly and was thankful, yet again, that he and Christy were okay. He dried off, dressed in the scrubs, and did his best to fold the dirty suit and shirt he’d worn to court the day before. The jacket was okay because he’d taken it off before climbing the Ferris wheel, but the pants, shirt, and bloodied tie looked terminal. May the dry cleaner raise them from the dead, lest it be the end of the only dress clothes he owned.

  He stuffed the clothes in the plastic bag that had held the scrubs and left the bathroom to find Christy awake, sitting in bed eating grape Jell-O with more mini marshmallows than he thought medically safe.

  “Hey, babe.” Leaning down, his hands on the bed for support, he kissed the side of Christy’s head. “Are you sure you’re not exceeding the recommended daily dose of marshmallows?”

  “Hello, filos. Carol gave this to me. She is the nurse. It is okay.”

  “How are you feeling? You were pretty upset over Thimi.”

  Christy ignored the question and jabbed the spoon toward the television. “The news says Yosef will go to the prison, and some people wish him to be dead. Why do they say dead three times?”

  Michael chuckled. “There is a famous quote from a judge when he ordered someone to be hanged until he was dead, dead, dead. I don’t know why the judge said it three times.”

  “Oh. This is good for me?”

  “Yeah. Everyone is on your side.”

  “I do not need the people on the side of me. I need Yosef to go to the prison.”

  “He will.”

  “You cannot say this. You do not control the actions of others.”

  Michael sighed as he looked into Christy’s beautiful eyes. “He’ll go. How do you feel?”

  Christy looked down at his Jell-O. “I did not want you to know,” he said softly.

  Michael sat on the side of the bed and cupped Christy’s face with his hands. “I love you. Nothing is going to change that.”

  Tears welled in Christy’s eyes. “I do not understand this.”

  Michael smiled a small smile and kissed the tip of his nose. “Just accept it?”

  “I will try.”

  An errant tear spilled over, and Michael wiped it away with his thumb. “Thank you.”

  Christy shook his head and dropped the spoon in the bowl. “I wish to take the shower.”

  “I know, but the police want to talk to you first. They need to get a statement and maybe collect some evidence.”

  Christy’s eyes went wide. “Why?”

  “I think it’s standard procedure. To make sure nothing else happened to you.”

  “I take the cab to the Ferris wheel, and I climb. This is the statement.”

  “Then that’s what you tell them.”

  “Okay. When do we know if Yosef goes to the prison?”

  “As soon as the jury finishes deliberating.”

  “What is this?”

  “The jury has to have time to think and decide what to do with Yosef.”

  “When does this happen?”

  “As soon as the hearing finishes today, they’ll start deliberations, and there’s no way of knowing how long it will take. They could come back with answers right away or over the weekend or in two weeks.”


  Christy stared at him with wide eyes.

  “It probably won’t happen right away, babe. I’m sorry.”

  Infinite sadness filled Christy’s eyes right before he looked down at his hands.

  “Hey. Don’t be sad. He’s going to prison one way or another.”

  Christy looked up at him again. “I wish this.”

  It sounded as if those three words held all the hope in the world, and Michael’s heart ached for him. “We’re going to stay positive, okay?”

  It was a long moment before Christy spoke. “Okay. I wish to speak to General Sotíras again. I wish to give him the instructions for Thimi.”

  Michael reached to the bedside table, retrieved his phone, and handed it to Christy. Christy took it, and the bowl of Jell-O began to slide off his lap. Michael caught it and set it on the bedside table as Christy dialed the phone.

  Irritated, Christy shook the phone and handed it back to Michael. “It does not work for the call to Greece.”

  That didn’t surprise Michael. There was no reason his mom would have arranged international service on his phone. “Where’s your phone?”

  Christy’s one-brow frown went into action as he thought for a minute. “I do not remember.”

  “Where are your clothes from last night?”

  Christy shook his head. “I do not remember.”

  It was Michael’s turn to frown. “What’s the last thing you remember from last night?”

  “You. And the pio pio.” He suddenly smiled. “You do not remember the words to the song?”

  Seeing Christy’s smile warmed Michael’s heart in indescribable ways and went a long way to easing his worry. “Hey, it’s all Greek to me.”

  Christy’s smile faded. “I was afraid to see you after Yosef’s words in the trial.”

  Michael ran a hand gently over Christy’s long hair. “There is nothing to be afraid of. Nothing’s changed. It’s over, we’re safe, and we can get on with our lives. I’m going to go find your phone.”

  CHRISTY WATCHED as Michael left the room. It amazed him that Michael cared for him, and he sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with Michael. But there wasn’t. Michael was normal. He only knew love and kindness and… safety.

  Fragmented memories flashed in his mind’s eye, jagged shards to shred his thoughts and leave his fragile courage to lie bleeding on the floor of his broken mind.

  Michael didn’t know what it felt like to starve until you were willing to drink your own blood. Or to go without sleep for days and lose your mind only to reclaim it and the horrors of reality. Michael didn’t know pain so trenchant it left you blind, or fear so caustic it left you paralyzed and you peed right where you stood. Michael didn’t know shame.

  Christy’s entire body shivered under the savagery of the mortal feeling—humiliation was so deeply embedded in his psyche it was a constant thrum, singeing each synapse and blistering every nerve, leaving him raw, flayed… exposed.

  He rubbed his forehead with the back of a hand as memories threatened to overwhelm him, squeezed his eyes shut, and willed them away. His chest hurt; it was hard to breathe when the before assaulted his senses. He loathed the memories they had foisted on him. He abhorred the dreams that never left him. He despised them. He disgusted himself.

  He was ugly.

  He was ruined.

  He’d never be normal.

  He could never be repaired.

  And now his ugly was part of Michael’s normal.

  He looked up at the television again. The news replayed pictures of the Ferris wheel and broadcast nothing but what Christy had endured. The whole world knew now. Talk shows, news commentators, everyone lauded his strength, his resiliency—all while they whispered that he was probably insane. They pretended they knew what he’d endured, how it felt, and what it meant. They. Knew. Nothing.

  He rubbed his forehead in frustration again. Yesterday, the moment Yosef had shouted at him in the courtroom, his mind had gone to the before. It had reverted in a split second. If he’d stayed in the courtroom one moment more, he would have crawled to Yosef and begged his forgiveness. He’d come to the United States to escape his past and hadn’t escaped a thing. Yosef still held power over him, and he’d run for his life—literally. He’d run for his life only to try to end it… without regard to Michael… or Thimi.

  Guilt flooded him, and he crawled under the covers.

  No, he’d never be normal.

  No, they weren’t safe.

  It is far, far from over.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “HEY, CAROL? Do you know where Christy’s clothes are?” Michael asked when he reached the nurses’ station.

  “The police took them when they left last night.”

  “Crap. Did they take Christy’s phone too?”

  “I believe so. Why?”

  Michael sighed and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “I don’t have international service on my phone, and Christy wants to call Greece. Why did they take his clothes?”

  “Standard procedure when the fire department gets involved in a rescue. I’m sure they’ll want yours too. I’m sorry, Michael.”

  He walked back to the room and was surprised that his knee only ached a little. It was nothing short of a miracle. He hadn’t worn his brace in the past three days, and he’d climbed a damn Ferris wheel. “The police have your clothes and phone, babe.”

  “Why?”

  “Back to that evidence gig, I think.”

  Christy reached for Michael’s phone again, scrolled until he found the number he wanted, and hit Send.

  Michael’s brows shot up. “Who are you calling?”

  “The detective who helped us with Jason.”

  Michael gave Christy a sidelong glance as mild irritation stung his spine. Detective Davis was still looking for the two guys who had helped Jason bomb his car. In spite of the fact that he hadn’t liked Christy in the beginning, he seemed to have grown almost fond of him, but Michael didn’t trust him completely and remained unconvinced he’d always protect them. His own police department had leaked information to the media about Christy’s kidnapping, for God’s sake.

  “Hello, this is me, Christophoros Castle. I wish to speak to Detective Davis.”

  Michael smiled to himself. Christy had only used a telephone for a little over a year, and his phone decorum was awkwardly formal.

  “Oh…. Yes…. Thank you.” Christy hung up.

  “Not there?”

  “He has the meeting.” Christy scrolled through the phone again and hit Send. “This is me, Christy. I wish a phone to call Greece. Thank you.” He terminated the call.

  “Who’d you call now?”

  “The security.”

  Michael’s brows shot up again as he suddenly remembered he hadn’t seen any private security on their door at all. That was odd.

  He would never have guessed in a million years that he’d need personal security, but with the kidnapping, the trial, and the media, Mr. Santini insisted on it. Now they lugged security guards with them wherever they went. If at all possible, he hated Yosef even more for taking away their privacy. “Where are they?”

  “Tad and John are down the hall in the small room with the television and newspaper.”

  “Glad no one tried to break into our room,” Michael said only half tongue in cheek.

  “We do not need the security like before because Yosef is in the jail.”

  “True.” Michael sat in the chair next to the bed and wondered if it really were true. Yosef had some seriously evil goons who worked for him. Not to mention, avoiding the press had become a daily nightmare.

  A knock sounded softly at the door and Tad, the head of their private security, entered the room with phone in hand.

  “Thank you,” Christy said as he took the phone and scrolled through it.

  Tad looked up at the television. “We have extra personnel on the way. No telling what the press will do once the verdict is read.”

 
Michael looked up at Tad. “The jury hasn’t even started deliberating yet.”

  “The proceedings lasted less than an hour this morning. They started at nine.”

  Michael gaped at him. “Why hasn’t anyone called us?”

  “Because they’re waiting in the courtroom in case the jury has questions, and the judge is dealing with ‘housekeeping matters.’” He made air quotes with his fingers.

  Michael pursed his lips. “I’ll be so glad when this is over.”

  Tad nodded as he continued to watch the news. “The floor is closed off here at the hospital, and we shouldn’t have any trouble. But the ride home may be a problem.”

  Michael wanted to kick something. “Man, this is so over the top.”

  Michael and Tad turned to Christy when his tone changed to one of frustration, and he abruptly terminated the call.

  “What’s up?” Michael asked.

  “Thimi is sleeping, and Dr. Jordanou and General Sotíras have gone for dining. I leave a message. The nurse at Hippokration says Thimi will not come here tomorrow.”

  That surprised Michael. “Maybe Dr. Jordanou wants to keep him another day to make sure he’s okay?” he offered.

  Christy seemed to relax a fraction. “This is probably the case.” He handed the phone back to Tad.

  “Keep it until we get yours back,” Tad said.

  “I called Detective Davis for the clothes and phone.”

  Tad gave Christy a tight smile. “I’ll check with him.”

  “Thank you.”

  Another knock sounded at the door, and Peter entered.

  “Hey, Peter,” Michael greeted as he rose from the chair and shook Peter’s hand.

  Peter smiled wide. “You two are trying to destroy all my hard work, aren’t you?”

  Michael laughed. “We just had a… an adventure. No big.”

  Christy almost smiled now. Almost. “This was the big adventure. But the legs are good.”

  “I can only imagine,” Peter said as he set his clipboard on the extra bed in the room. “Who first?”

  Michael glanced at Christy, who suddenly looked unsure. “Me.”